Chapter Text
It seems a rather cruel twist, following the previous night’s conversation, that Daniel's left with a day of staring at other people’s wedding photographs.
He’s finishing work on a set he took earlier in the week for a lovely young couple. He’s been avoiding wedding commissions where he can lately, he doesn’t think Mrs Chapman would respond well to seeing him around the church. Luckily this one was taking place in a charming little medieval church, not far from the Fitzwilliam, in Cambridge, and Daniel had jumped at the chance. He’s not going to starve if he turns work down occasionally, but it’s hardly a good business strategy.
It had been a nice job, glorious sunshine, happy couple, and the pictures are coming out well. He’s still getting sick of the sight of them. It’s not a day for looking at other people’s happy wedding photographs, no matter how much he liked them or how well he wished them, and by late afternoon he’s not at all sorry to finish.
With nothing further to do though he surrenders to the impulse that has been dogging him all day and reaches down a flat box from a high shelf near the ceiling. The photographs in here are old, some of his earliest attempts from long before the war. Most aren’t terribly good, he’d started out on the kind of cheap camera it took real skill to get good photographs from and it had taken time to acquire such a skill. He’s attached to them though, they remind him of being a teenager and seeing a photograph he’d taken develop for the first time, the rush of excitement at the magic of creation. He’s happy to say he’s never quite lost that thrill of seeing an image develop. There’s something else in here too though; a wedding photograph in a heavy white card mount, its frilly, gilded edge a little out of style now.
He’s not sure why he keeps this picture in the darkroom. It’s the only photograph in here that he didn’t take. He supposes that everywhere else just feels even less appropriate, that he prefers to store it in here in the dark, half-forgotten. Daniel’s too self-aware and too comfortable with who he is to think that disposing of the photograph would be anything but an empty gesture. It’s not the worst of memories, but not one he cares to dwell on.
He looks serious, but not unhappy, in his demob suit – that’s something he has long since disposed of, pinstripes being a bit formal and old fashioned for his tastes. The bride looks radiant, looking up at the man beside her with an expression he knows all too well. He remembers that look of trust and confidence, and he remembers the last time he saw it, the time he watched it crumble and never return. The time he made it crumble. He quickly puts the photograph away and goes downstairs to make himself a cup of tea.
Released from thinking about work, and fresh from helping himself to a new serving of an old guilt, Daniel’s brain keeps turning over the conversation from last night. As though if he looks at it from enough angles he’ll find a solution, even though he’s not really sure what a solution would look like.
It’s strange, he’d never even considered the notion of marriage until Leonard had brought it up. In much the same way you don’t consider holidaying on the moon. It’s not, he supposes, quite as outlandish an idea, and yet it still has a ring of the fantastical about it. He wonders which is more likely in his lifetime. The Russians had put something into orbit just last year. At the time it had brought back all the H.G. Wells and Jules Verne stories he’d devoured in his youth. He’s not convinced they’re going to be fighting Martians any time soon, but in many ways science seems to be advancing rather faster than society is these days.
Daniel’s aware that some couples like them hold their own ceremonies, taking a chance to declare their love and devotion even while they’re denied any legal rights. He knows though that isn’t what Leonard means, or what Leonard wants. To him marriage involves God and the Church and there’s no way around that. Besides, Daniel doesn’t think Leonard really needs a ring or a ceremony so much as he needs his faith and his loved ones to accept both him and his relationship. In the case of the arbiters of faith in the Church of England, Daniel thinks there’s a better chance of getting that holiday on the moon.
In the case of Mrs C? Sneaking around aside, things have settled better than he’d hoped they would. Will she ever be ready to accept this part of Leonard’s life though? Daniel’s not sure. He hopes she will, but if the occasional remarks she still makes about Leonard needing a wife are anything to go by then she’s still not ready.
He doesn’t think that the fact Leonard wishes he could oblige her by marrying would help, given who he’d like to marry. For the first time Daniel smiles at the thought. Despite its cruel impossibility, he still liked hearing that it’s what Leonard would want. It’s not as though the sentiment was a surprise, Leonard would never have allowed their relationship to go so far (in any sense) if he weren’t completely sure of them. In a way, they committed to each other long ago. There’s nothing casual in Leonard’s approach to love. Actually there’s very little casual in Leonard’s approach to anything, and Daniel adores that about him. He loves the slightly odd intensity Leonard is capable of feeling about strange and utterly unrelated things. The way he gives himself over just as completely to a slightly terrible film as he does to the deepest issues of his faith. He’s a delightful blend of passion and whimsy, as prone to flights of fancy as he is to getting lost in deep thought.
It’s how much Daniel loves him that makes nights like the last so painful. He wants to restore the smile to Leonard’s face, to chase away his dark thoughts and give him everything he could want. The problem is Leonard’s dark thoughts are currently not a particularly distorted reflection of reality. His feelings are not unreasonable, and the cause isn’t removable.
That’s probably the real reason Daniel had found himself looking at his wedding photograph. It wasn’t called to mind by thoughts of matrimony, but by feelings of guilt and helplessness.
Daniel vaguely wonders about breaking into the vestry, finding one of those mouldering books of parish records and adding their names somewhere no one’s likely to find them for a long, long time. Or doing something even more daft like carving their initials into a tree somewhere. The thing is though these aren’t solutions, and they aren’t anything Leonard would appreciate. Vandalising trees or parish records would not please him. More importantly it feels like trivialising the problem, pretending he can fix it. He can’t.
Daniel sighs heavily, sips his tea and pulls a face. What was that he was thinking about Leonard getting lost in thought? Apparently he’s been doing just that. The sun is noticeably lower in the sky and his tea is stone cold. He sighs again and refills the kettle.
The unexpected knock at the door is a very welcome distraction. Frankly he doesn’t care if it’s a door to door salesman or a Jehovah’s Witness after his soul, he’s suddenly happy at the idea of seeing anybody.
The man that awaits him on his doorstep though isn’t selling anything and, in so far as Daniel believes he has one, already has his soul.
Leonard has a soft smile on his face and, as soon as the door is closed behind him, he steps in close, places a hand on Daniel’s chest just over his heart, and kisses him tenderly.
Daniel's arms move around Leonard’s waist of their own accord and he lets out a little hum of satisfaction as Leonard breaks the kiss and leans their foreheads together. “Hello,” he murmurs, trying not to break the spell of the moment.
“Hello, love.” Leonard doesn’t drop endearments as often as Daniel, and it makes it all the better on the occasions when he does.
“This is a nice surprise.”
“I’m sorry, I should have called ahead.” Delightfully, Leonard doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“You know you never need to do that.” He’d finally got Leonard to accept a spare key, and with it the notion that he is always welcome in Daniel’s home. His good manners though mean he still tends to knock and wait to be invited in.
“I hoped you wouldn’t mind some company for dinner.”
“I most certainly would not mind.” He has no idea what he’s got in to serve the two of them but that doesn’t really matter, he’s not trying to compete with Mrs C when it comes to feeding Leonard.
Leonard’s quiet over dinner, but in quite a different way to last night. He doesn’t seem distracted any more and, though he doesn’t seem ready to talk yet, he prompts Daniel to tell him about his day and listens with a quiet smile. Daniel leaves out his own worries, talks instead about how pleased he is with the photographs he was working on, how much he liked the little medieval church.
It’s only later, relaxed on the settee, Leonard pressed against his side, head on Daniel’s shoulder, that his visitor broaches the topic that’s been occupying both of their thoughts.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Leonard says softly.
“There is nothing to apologise for!” Daniel insists. “Please, sweetheart...”
“No.” Leonard is firm, as he always is when he thinks he’s right. He sits up and turns to face Daniel, who instantly misses the contact. “I’m not saying I said anything wrong exactly, but I was a bit melodramatic about it all. I was feeling down and when I feel like that everything’s black and white, if it’s not great then it’s terrible. I was focussing on everything I couldn’t have, and letting it undermine what I’d got.”
Daniel listens in silence. Leonard has a slightly esoteric style of conversation sometimes when trying to express himself and Daniel often needs a minute to parse the meaning from what he’s said.
Leonard takes his hand and carries on. “I know that you think things can change for the better. I have trouble believing in that, but it’s not really the point anyway.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe things will change, but if they don’t then that’s ok. Loving you, being with you, it’s worth everything. It’s enough, it’s more than enough. It’s better than anything I ever thought I’d have or deserved.”
There’s a lump in Daniel’s throat, he can’t actually trust himself to respond to that. He doesn’t need to though, Leonard’s not done. He smiles a little shyly and says, “Sometimes I like that it’s our secret. I like catching your eye in a room full of people and them all having no idea. It feels special, intimate, like it’s just ours.”
It’s not naivety, not exactly. Leonard sees plenty wrong with the world, but he chooses to see and celebrate the best in things. Maybe it’s his faith that has him perceiving the miraculous in the everyday, but Daniel thinks it’s more than that. Something inherently Leonard. He sees the romance of a ruin, rather than it’s decay, but he never ignores whatever terrible things brought it to ruin to begin with.
If they are all in the gutter, then Leonard is most certainly looking at the stars.
Daniel’s happy just looking at Leonard.
Much as Daniel had wanted to rescue him from his pain, he’s now getting a masterclass on the fact that Leonard is fully adept at rescuing himself. “You really do have a wonderful way of seeing the world. It’s what first drew me to you, you make everything feel brighter.” Daniel realises he’s squeezing Leonard’s hand like it’s a lifeline. Leonard though is squeezing right back, so maybe they’re each other’s lifeline.
“I don’t know about that.” Leonard shrugs, “I seem to have a bit of a melancholic personality sometimes.”
He does. Whatever feelings had led up to him trying to take his own life are still somewhere within him. It worries Daniel sometimes. There are days, like yesterday, when those feelings seem in danger of taking full rein. Leonard always beats them back though. He’s stronger and braver than he ever realises.
“You’re wonderful.” Daniel wishes he had Leonard’s way with words to better express just how incredible the man beside him is. He settles for kissing him, hand gently caressing Leonard’s cheek. When their lips part Leonard leans into his touch before turning to kiss his palm.
“We’re wonderful,” he says quietly.
They are, Daniel grins, damn anyone who thinks otherwise. “I like catching your eye in public too.” It’s not as good as holding his hand, but Daniel understands what Leonard means about it feeling intimate and private and just theirs. It doesn’t hurt that he’s always admired Leonard’s warm, soulful eyes either.
Leonard smiles back at him. “It reminds me of what Dickens said, ‘A silent look of affection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly away...is a hold, a stay, a comfort, in the deepest affliction’.”
Daniel really can’t help himself. “I’ve always said he was terribly eloquent for a Labrador, you’ve taught him well.”
Leonard doesn’t chastise him for breaking the mood, just laughs and kisses him again. “Well, he is very clever. He’s been looking after me today. Came upstairs to see me when I went for a lie down, he always seems to know when he’s needed. That and where the biscuits are, it’s like he’s got a sixth sense.”
Daniel makes a mental note to put some more biscuits in Dickens’ path in the near future. It’s good to know that even when he can’t be there Leonard has someone looking after him.
The clock chimes and Daniel realises that for the second time today it’s later than he’d thought, but this time his distraction has been much more pleasant.
“Can I stay tonight?” Leonard asks.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daniel teases, pretending to consider the question.
Leonard kisses him softly, lips travelling from his temple to his jawline before hovering enticingly over Daniel’s own. “Do I need to persuade you?”
It’s a tempting idea, but Daniel can’t even pretend to need persuading. He wraps his arms around the other man and holds him close. “If I had my way you’d stay every night.”
“Mmm,” Leonard shakes his head, “Dickens would miss me.”
It’s easier to joke about it, to give flippant reasons why they can’t always be together, why they can’t live together. Can’t have the shared life it’s clear they both want.
It is never going to be easy. However Daniel hadn’t pursued Leonard in expectation of an easy life, but in recognition of something too rare and wonderful to let pass without at least trying, difficulties be damned.
Leonard’s right, what they do have is perhaps all the more precious for being something they can’t share with the world and, whether changes for the better come or not, it is very much more than enough.